


if I told you I need you (is that what you want)

by dylanesque, Pinkmanite



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Barebacking, College/Fraternity AU, D/s, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Detailed Warnings in Endnotes, Dubious Consent, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Rough Sex, Sibling Incest, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-09
Updated: 2017-12-09
Packaged: 2019-02-12 12:32:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12959271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dylanesque/pseuds/dylanesque, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pinkmanite/pseuds/Pinkmanite
Summary: When Ryan finally pulls away, he rests their foreheads together, eyes closed and breathing heavy.“Tell me how he touched you.”It takes Dylan by surprise, which must be evident when he tries to pull away. Ryan must have expected as much, because his hand’s already there to catch him, pull him back in.“Ryan…”“Tell me how he touched you, Dylan."





	if I told you I need you (is that what you want)

**Author's Note:**

> \- Detailed summary of the warnings are in the endnotes.  
> \- De-anon'ed on 12/31/17  
> 

****Dylan comes up to visit over the long weekend.

He isn’t really considering enrolling here, even if it means being near Ryan for most of the year. Maybe _especially_ because it means being near Ryan for most of the year. It’s too indulgent, too dangerous. That’s mostly Ryan’s gospel, doing most of the worrying and brewing up most of the precautions. If it were purely up to Dylan, he’d be attached to Ryan twenty-four-seven.

They balance each other out in that aspect, so Dylan huffs and reluctantly agrees to at least consider the other universities he’s applied to before seriously considering Ryan’s.

“Is it because you want space? Are you screwing around to experiment or whatever? It’s fine, Ry, I’ll stay out of your sheets when you want me to.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Dyl,” Ryan had insisted, rolling his eyes. “There’s just too much that could go wrong, okay? Just trust me.”

And Dylan had sighed and said, “always.”

But despite their agreement for Dylan to pursue his education elsewhere, it still poses the perfect opportunity for a few stolen days of privacy at Ryan’s dinky off-campus apartment. He opted out of living in his fraternity house this year, instead renting out this shithole across the street from the main School of Business building, where most of his Sports Management classes are. His pledge brother splits it with him, this guy called John. And that’s about all Dylan knows, woven together from his Facetime session with Ryan.

“Aren’t you worried about John?” Dylan had asked, voice tainted with static and face tarnished in blocky pixels. Ryan and John are too stingy to pay for in-unit internet service, choosing to pray they connect to campus wifi.

“Nah,” Ryan had shrugged, relaxed. His disposition tells Dylan that he’s already thought it through enough that he’s confident in his decision. “It’s a big party weekend, he’ll either be too wasted to notice or out hooking up. It’ll pretty much just be you and me alone.”

Dylan had smirked, and, even through the pixels, Ryan had seen and known exactly what he was thinking.

“So that’s a yes then?”

“Of course, Ry. I’ll see you in a few days.”

“Can’t wait. Love you, Dyl.”

“Love you, too.”

And that had been that.

So now Dylan is here, having come up just like he’d said. Their dad had dropped him off at the bus station and just barely trusted him enough to make it up in one piece for Ryan to receive him from the drop off point at the Student Union. Dylan thinks the precautions are ridiculous. He’s eighteen, he’s an adult, he could’ve driven up himself. But between Ryan and their parents, this was probably the best he could get.

Speaking of which.

“Hey asshole!” Dylan grins, wide and toothy, when he spots Ryan and John waving at him down the sidewalk. Once he’s close enough, he drops his bag and holds out his arms expectantly. Ryan doesn’t disappoint, pulling him into a solid bro-hug, with a solid pat on the back.

“Missed ya, brat,” Ryan laughs, bright and cheery.

“Of course ya did,” Dylan says, “and I guess I missed you a little, too.”

That’s when John pops in, pats Dylan on the arm. “What’s new, kid?”

Dylan shifts his attention, polite and warm. “How’s it been, man?”

Ryan grabs his bag without prompting and Dylan doesn’t protest. He already knows the way to the apartment but follows along, letting Ryan and John lead the way.

“So there’s this rager tonight at the House,” John says. “You wanna come?”

Dylan shrugs and looks to Ryan, who also shrugs. “Yeah, sure.”

John grins, ruffling Dylan’s hair. “Yes, buddy! It’s gonna be sick.”

 

**~**

 

Dylan’s had enough shots already that he really can’t refuse when John presses a double of vodka into his hands. It’s a mixture of adrenaline and good vibes that overcome Dylan’s judgement, really, more so than his state of inebriation. So he throws it down in a confident tip of his head, adam’s apple bobbing dutifully.

Ryan’s around somewhere, but he’s not Dylan’s keeper. If he were, he’d surely be right there, snatching the little red shot glass, angrily protesting his brother’s rate of consumption.

Even yet, Dylan kinda wants that. Where is Ryan anyway? He wants Ryan. Wants Ryan to worry over him and bully him around like he always does. He wants to ditch this party and get what he came all the way here for. Ryan’s touch. Ryan’s voice. All of Ryan.

Blinking vigorously in a futile attempt to make everything a little less blurry, Dylan doesn’t realize he’s being grabbed and kissed until there’s a tongue already halfway down his throat. Although initially surprised, Dylan melts into it, opening his mouth wider and groaning into the kiss.

“Let’s go somewhere more private, Dyl,” he hears in his ear. Somewhere deep down, Dylan feels like something’s not quite right, but he can’t quite place it, so he lets himself be led away, up the stairs and away from the crowd of the party.

That’s what he wanted, anyway, to ditch the party, yeah?

Dylan feels the hands on his arms, moving up and down soothingly. He doesn’t object when he’s slammed up against the wall, the door swinging shut from somewhere to his side. He likes the feeling of being held, of being handled like this. He moans his approval, unable to find quite the right words.

It’s nice, soft lips on his own and warm hands on his skin. It’s even nice when those hands find their way under his shirt, pinching his nipples just the way he likes.

In fact: “You like that, huh, Stromer?”

Dylan freezes. _Stromer?_

It’s crazy how timing works out because before Dylan can push this guy away, the door slams open and he’s being yanked away, anyway.

“What the _fuck,_ John?” It’s Ryan, seething.

With Ryan’s death grip on his forearm and the weight of the situation finally registering, really registering, Dylan sobers up faster than he’s had in his entire life. _Oh shit._

He gasps, “Ryan--”

“Later, Dylan,” Ryan growls, still staring down John.

“Sorry, man,” John frowns, “didn’t know you’d be so pissy.”

“Are you kidding?” Ryan shoves Dylan back toward the door and marches forward until he can shove John with both hands, angry. “He’s my little brother, you fucking creep.”

“Dude, calm down--”

Ryan doesn’t even hesitate, throwing a solid right hook that sends John reeling back. It’s so unlike Ryan but so predictable all at the same time. It’s confusing and it’s a lot and Dylan is overwhelmed.

“Fuck,” John curses, cradling his face. “You’re fucking insane.”

“If I catch you so much as _looking_ at my brother ever again--”

“Yeah no, I get it, Strome,” John spits, “loud and clear, dickhead.”

Ryan glares at him but doesn’t dignify him with another response. Instead, he turns to Dylan,gripping his arm again and leading him out of the frat house.

“Ryan--”

“I don’t want to hear it. Not right now.”

So Dylan shuts up and obediently lets Ryan (literally) drag him back to the apartment.

 

~

 

They’ve been sitting here long enough for both Ryan and Dylan to cycle through various emotions, but not long enough for any semblance of reconciliation.

“I’m sorry, Ryan, I’m so sorry, please Ryan,” Dylan babbles between hiccups, wiping the wet from his tears with his sleeve. “I didn’t-- I don’t--”

“Shut up,” Ryan grumbles, pulling the blanket tighter around himself and turning away from Dylan. He kicks a pillow until it’s wedged between them.

Dylan kicks it away. “Ry--”

“I said _shut up,_ you brat.” Ryan spits. But he hears Dylan hiccup again and he softens. Quieter now, “look, Dyl, just go to sleep and we’ll talk about it in the morning. When you’re sober.”

“But I wanna talk about it now.”

“Please?”

“I’m _sorry,_ okay? I didn’t _mean_ any of it. I’m just. I didn’t know _how,”_ Dylan huffs, frustrated at his inability to express his feelings in words.

Suddenly, Ryan turns, hot and angry, but not at Dylan. “Did he force you? I’m going to beat the _shit_ out of him. That fucking bastard, I’m going to--”

_“No.”_ Dylan says. “He didn’t force me. I just… I didn’t think.”

“Oh baby brother,” Ryan swallows, cooling down just as quickly as he had heated, “I’m never letting you drink ever again.”

Dylan pouts but nods, agreeing.

“I just,” Dylan tries again, “I wanted _you_ but I couldn’t find you and he was right there and--”

“Shh” Ryan goes to hold his cheek, rubbing circles along Dylan’s jawline with his thumb, “it’s okay, baby, you don’t have to explain it. I understand. But I’m here now, alright? I’m here.”

“I’m sorry, I really, really am,” Dylan whispers, leaning into Ryan’s touch. “I wanna be good for you, Ry. Only you.”

“Stop apologizing,” Ryan leans in and kisses him, chaste and sweet.

“I’m sorry,” then catching himself, “I mean, I just feel so guilty, is all.”

Ryan hushes him, pulling him into his lap and kissing him deeper this time, working his tongue past Dylan’s lips. They stay like that for a moment, Dylan with his arms tight around Ryan while Ryan grips at his neck, his back, his ass. They kiss until Dylan is calm enough, eyes dry and hiccups faded into faint little sniffles.

“Don’t be,” Ryan says, some time later. It takes Dylan a minute to realize he’s talking about Dylan’s guilt. “Let me worship you.”

Dylan shakes his head, refusing to meet Ryan’s eyes. “I don’t deserve it.”

Concerned, Ryan pulls away and looks at Dylan, really looks at him. It’s a lengthy silence and Dylan reluctantly looks up at him through his pretty little eyelashes, worried.

“Do you need to be punished? Will that make it better?”

Dylan’s breath hitches, caught in his throat. He turns bright red, the edge of it reaching his ears, but he nods vigorously, sure.

“Dylan,” Ryan warns, “answer me correctly, I won’t ask again.”

“Yes, Ryan,” Dylan breathes, “Please. Sir.”

Ryan doesn’t hesitate, quickly flipping Dylan around all at once until he’s suddenly over Ryan’s knees, scrambling for purchase while his ass is lifted on display.

“Tell me your safeword, baby,” Ryan says, softer, rubbing soft circles on Dylan’s thighs.

Dylan murmurs it, barely intelligible, but Ryan knows it, knows what sounds to listen for, knows Dylan knows it. So in one deep breath, he yanks down Dylan’s pants and smacks him hard, right on the meat of his ass cheeks.

He yelps, heart beat racing. It’s a lot, and Dylan holds his breath, bracing for the next impact, but when it comes, he melts into it, breathless. Ryan does it again, this time twice in succession, and Dylan cries out, reflexively squirming away.

It’s useless, Ryan grip on the small of his back firm and unwavering. He holds him steady, dead focused. He doesn’t go easy on him.

“Don’t make me start over, baby boy.”

“ ‘m sorry, Ry.”

A single harsh slap, on his thigh.

“I mean. Sir.” Dylan’s voice cracks, apologetic. He’s shock still, anticipating the next one.

Ryan doesn’t fail him, his aim impeccable as he layers his hits over the previous marks, still smarting hotly. Dylan can practically feel his skin reddening under Ryan’s gaze. It must be something else, the swell of his ass marked with Ryan’s hand. His suspicion is occured when he resettles, accidentally jostling the semi growing in Ryan’s pants.

If it affects Ryan, he doesn’t say anything, quickly slapping down a quick three spanks without warning. It knocks the breath from Dylan’s throat, pulling an embarrassing high-pitched yelp that Dylan didn’t even know he was capable of.

“Ryan, please--”

“Do you need to use your safeword?” Ryan interrupts, stiling,

Dylan pauses. Swallows. Thinks.

“No, I don’t.”

“Alright, then.”

Two sharp spanks land where his ass dips to meet his thighs, squeezing tears from Dylan’s already wrung out eyes.

Either Ryan can read Dylan better than he lets on… or Ryan has grown impatient. “Final bit, baby,” he whispers.

He delivers two identical spanks directly over the last. Harder, firmer. Given with finality.

Dylan sniffles, catching his breath until he’s calmed down enough to mind his manners. “Thank you, Ryan.”

“Did you learn your lesson?” Ryan’s running his palms in big, loose circles that follow the rise of Dylan’s ass cheeks. It’s soothing, grounding. Just what Dylan needs.

“Yes, sir. I did.”

“And what’s that?” A light squeeze, playful, but stinging nonetheless.

Almost indecipherable, Dylan exhales, “I’m yours.”

“Hm?” Ryan hear him just fine, already well-versed in Dylan’s murmurings, but he wants to hear it again.

“Yours, Ryan. I’m all yours. Only yours.”

Ryan hauls him up, pulling him back into his lap and capturing his lips, holding him close with a firm hand at the back of his head.

“That’s right, baby,” Ryan says against his lips, “you belong to me. Don’t forget it.”

They kiss a little more, Ryan in completely control, unrelenting. He doesn’t let up, kissing Dylan likes it’s urgent, like his life depends on it. All the while, Dylan holds on for the ride, gripping onto Ryan like he might be yanked away at any second.

When Ryan finally pulls away, he rests their foreheads together, eyes closed and breathing heavy.

“Tell me how he touched you.”

It takes Dylan by surprise, which must be evident when he tries to pull away. Ryan must have expected as much, because his hand’s already there to catch him, pull him back in.

“Ryan…”

“Tell me how he touched you, Dylan. Tell me so I can erase his touch.”

Dylan doesn’t fully understand but Ryan wants this so he gives it to him. Trusts him enough to follow in blind.

“We kissed… He took me upstairs and slammed me up against the wall. Then we kissed more and he touched me.”

Ryan’s breath hitches and Dylan almost doesn’t notice.

“Where? Tell me, baby boy.”

Dylan swallows. “My nipples. Just my nipples.”

Ryan doesn’t delay, tugging at Dylan’s shirt until it slide off over his head. His fingers are on Dylan’s chest immediately, pinching at the hardened bud and twisting it cruelly, without warning. Dylan yells and thrashes, trying to escape Ryan’s ministrations. But Ryan holds him steady, makes him take it.

“He touch you like this?” It’s rough, almost accusatory, but one look at Ryan’s eyes and Dylan knows it’s just part of their game.

“Too much,” Dylan says instead, whining.

“I asked you a question, baby,” Ryan warns, gravelly.

“Gentler,” Dylan huffs, “he was gentler.”

“But you weren’t made for _gentle,_ ” Ryan spits the word like venom, “were you, baby?”

Dylan shakes his head, cheeks heating up. Ryan’s right. He could never get off on just gentle.

“Dylan.” Another warning.

“Sorry,” he snaps back into it, “you’re right, Ry. I don’t want gentle.”

“That’s right.” And Ryan twists again.

“Fuck!” Dylan throws his head back, trusting Ryan to hold onto him. He does.

Nipples still throbbing in the residual pulses of sharp hot pain, it takes Dylan a minute to realize that Ryan’s fixated on a spot on his collarbone. He’s staring at it, fingers tracing it over and over and over again.

“Ry?” Dylan’s voice is small, cautious.

“What’s this, Dylan?”

Honestly, Dylan hadn’t known it was there. It’s lightly purpling, faint but obvious against his pale skin. It’s small for a hickey, but it’s there, nonetheless. It’s enough to get to Ryan.

“I didn’t know-- ohmygod!”

Dylan gasps when Ryan gets his mouth on him without warning, sucking hard and getting some teeth on it. He works at it, persistent and diligent, for a good while until he deems it acceptable enough to pull back and admire his work. The spot is larger now, definitely gonna peak out from under Dylan’s shirt. It’s darker, much darker, and very much _Ryan._

“Fuck, Ryan,” Dylan pants. “I need. Please.”

It doesn’t make sense, not really, but Ryan knows immediately what he wants. What he needs.

Ryan turns until he can push Dylan back onto the bed. It’s one quick shove at the center of his chest, firm and effective. Dylan bounces once, twice, splaying out with his arms automatically thrown above his head.

Seizing the opportunity, Ryan grabs Dylan’s wrists in one hand, easily pinning them above his head, pressed into the mattress. Crawling over him, Ryan goes in to kiss him, slower now, taking his time. He traces patterns over Dylan’s chest and abs, occasionally dipping into his belly button.

Once Ryan has deemed Dylan calmed enough, he brings his free hand to Dylan’s mouth, who eagerly takes them and sucks obediently. Satisfied, Ryan slips his hand down, down, down, until his fingers are pressed between the pinking swells of Dylan’s cheeks. Dylan’s breath hitches in little gasps every time Ryan brushes over his hole.

“Come on, Ry,” Dylan pulls away by turning his head to the side, reluctantly breaking Ryan’s kisses. “Fuck me.”

Ryan’s nuzzled into the crook of his neck, nipping lightly at his skin, careful not to leave any more marks. He’s nosing at his adam’s apple when he grazes over Dylan’s hole again. Except this time he pushes in, hyper-aware of Dylan’s groans, vibrating right there at his nose.

“Yes, Ryan, holy shit,” Dylan gasps.

“Be good, baby boy,” Ryan whispers, coming back up to kiss him again. When their lip meet, he slips in the second finger, immediately scissoring him open. Dylan squirms under him but Ryan keeps going, slipping in the third just as quickly and quietly as before.

“Ryan, Ryan, Ryan,” Dylan chants, pulling away again. “Come on, just do it, please. Please.”

“Shh, baby,” Ryan murmurs, changing his rhythm to fuck his fingers up into Dylan, who whimpers, needy. Well-practiced as they are with each other, Ryan knows exactly where Dylan’s prostate is, but he consciously avoids it, deliberately brushing over and around it.

Dylan whines, pushing back as best he can while still pinned down under Ryan’s weight. Ryan lets him try, chuckling when he groans, frustrated. He takes that as his cue to slide out, causing Dylan to whine even more.

“Brat,” Ryan accuses without malice, maybe even fond. Dylan huffs, mildly annoyed but a little endeared nonetheless.

Ryan rolls around until he can reach into his bedside drawer, shuffling through it until he finds the little bottle of lube stashed in the back. He pumps himself a few times until he’s properly coated, then dribbles a little extra over Dylan’s crease.

Dylan flinches when the coolness of it seeps to his hole, contrasting with the warmth built up alongside the still-smarting pink from his spanking. It doesn’t last long, however, because Ryan’s there, hands spreading Dylan nice and wide so he can slide his cock up between his cheeks.

Ryan thrusts up a few times, the tip catching on Dylan’s rim. He gasps, squirming, but this time to get closer, to get that last inch for it to slip in.

“Stop teasing,” Dylan says, “please, Ryan, please.”

Ryan slaps his ass once, just to send a message. “Hush, baby, I’ve got you. Just trust me. I’ll take care of you.”

And he keeps his word, spreading Dylan with one hand while he lines himself up with the other. He leans over to mouth at Dylan’s skin, trailing more light almost-hickeys as he pushes in, steady and unwavering. Dylan’s holding his breath, his heart rate up, jaw clenched as he takes it dutifully, refuses to show Ryan any sign of slowing down.

Ryan knows how Dylan likes it, probably knows better than Dylan himself. He’s gotten him off more than enough times to know how to make it good for him, exactly the way he wants it, needs it.

“So good for me, baby boy,” Ryan murmurs, low and rough, “taking it so good, just for me.”

“Ry…”

“Shh, Dyl, it’s okay. I’ve got you. It’s okay. You’re doing so good, baby.” Ryan pauses, completely sheathed and balls deep into Dylan’s tight little ass. He can feel the heat radiating from where Dylan’s skin is still smarting, his own thighs pressed right up against him.

“Please, Ry,” Dylan tries again, breathless.

“Okay,” Ryan nods, “ready, babe?”

Dylan nods, desperate.

Ryan grips his hips hard, uses the leverage to pull back just enough so he can slam right back in, balls slapping harshly against Dylan’s sensitive flesh. In turn, Dylan grunts, holding back a yelp.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he pants instead.

“God, Dyl, you feel so fucking good. So tight, baby, so good.” Ryan slides one hand up and down Dylan’s side, soothing. It’s a stark contrast to the other, which grips Dylan’s hip so hard it’ll probably leave finger-shaped bruises come morning. He pistons in and out, aiming just the right way to drive Dylan nuts.

“Ryan, please, please, I’m. Please,” Dylan babbles, warmth swirling in his stomach.

“Yeah?” Ryan exhales, “can you come just from my cock, baby? Can you do that for me?”

“Ry--”

“Dylan, baby, I need you to tell me. Can you come on my cock?”

“Yeah, Ry, yeah. Just. Give it to me, please, please, please.” Dylan throws his head back, covering his eyes with his forearm. Ryan tsks and bats it away, grabbing his wrist and holding him down.

“Come on, Dyl, come for me. Be a good boy and come on my cock.”

And that’s all it takes. One hard, well-aimed thrust of Ryan’s cock hits Dylan’s sweet spot dead-on, causing him to tighten up, clenching down on Ryan like he needs him to survive, and letting it all go. He comes hard, coating himself in his own mess while Ryan rides through.

And through and through and through. He doesn’t stop, his thrust erratic now, less thought out. He has both hands gripping and Dylan’s waist again, pulling his whole body to meet his thrusts. Dylan whimpers, high and breathy, uncomfortable and overwhelmed with the sensation in his post-coital buzz.

“Ry, oh my god, Ryan, come on,” he manages.

“Fuck, Dyl, I didn’t even touch you. Came on my cock just like I said, such a good boy. My good baby boy.”

“Ry!”

“Fuck, baby, gonna fill you up. Gonna-- _fuck!_ ” Ryan thrusts in, in, in one last time, pushing and pushing until he can’t anymore, so hard it slides Dylan up the bed. Ryan does what he said, buries himself in Dylan, releasing the hot stickiness of his cum so deep inside that Dylan whines, milking him for it.

Ryan pulls out once he catches his breath. He stop for a minute, just to marvel at Dylan’s hole, red and puffy and steadily dripping Ryan’s cum. He takes a deep breath.

“Mine,” he says, snuggling up behind Dylan, automatically throwing his arm around his chest, pulling him in close. Dylan’s eyes are already fluttered shut, his breathing beginning to even out.

“Thanks, Ry,” he murmurs, sleepily. “Love you.”

Ryan kisses his shoulder, nuzzling in close.

“Love you, too, Dyl.”

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> DETAILED WARNINGS: Ryan and Dylan Strome are in an established incestuous relationship. While intoxicated, Dylan makes out with John Tavares without fully realizing what he's doing. Ryan finds them and gets vaguely violent with John. He's overly possessive of Dylan and it can read it unhealthy, in all honesty. It's assumed some time passes for Dylan to sober up enough to the point he can consent to what he's doing sexually with Ryan, as there is an established safeword system between them. The D/s elements come into play here, in which Ryan is possessive in their play. Also, he calls Dylan "baby" and "baby boy" in case you're not into that.


End file.
